Nature's Anaesthetic
by XLemonSqueezyX
Summary: Will Herondale reflects on his lifestyle while drunk, and ends up feeling sorry for himself. Quite angsty one-shot, my first story :  please read and review.


B AN. Hey, this is my first story, it's just a one-shot of what I imagine Will was like, and what he did before he met Tessa :D please review, constructive criticism welcome, because I'd love to improve my writing. Hope you like it ~Kirsty~ /B

_For the wicked boasteth of his heart's desire, and blesseth the covetous, whom the lord abhorreth.  
><em>_(Psalm 10:3) _

I I told myself I could fill the hollowness in my chest with basic desire, but, as I knew it would, it turned out to be like gorging yourself on a banquet- it tastes divine and satisfies your hunger, but you even as you consume it, the regrets become clearer. Of course, gluttony is one of the Cardinal Sins. I allowed myself a brief chuckle at the irony of one such as me talking of sins, before returning to self-pity. /I

Will Herondale appeared to walk without direction or purpose in the pouring rain, but his lilting stride gradually began towards the Blooming Rose, a local whorehouse. Will knew he could probably find a companion for the evening elsewhere – he was well aware of his charms – but tonight he couldn't find the strength to create an illusion some poor unsuspecting girl would fall for. He inhaled deeply, revelling in the familiar stench of the city. He had really grown fond of London, despite the weather.

As the Blooming Rose became clearer he felt a familiar feeling of anticipation growing in the pit of his stomach. Once there might have been excitement, but if he was truly honest with himself, Will knew he was bored. Bored with how routine his life had become-although to a mundane his life would appear exciting and stimulating, Will Herondale had become predictable. He didn't know how many more disapproving looks from Jem and Charlotte he could take...he was fast running out of witty retorts to their interrogation, especially seeing as he returned more and more inebriated each night.

Not to mention the current string of murders was playing on his mind, the most recent a little girl...Will shuddered as he remembered the icy rage coursing through his body. Will had always found that strange - the fact that so many poets and writers describe anger as fiery, and he only ever felt cold. Well, colder than he usually felt anyway.

He approached the door of the seemingly nondescript house, knowing that inside would be a different story...bright, garish decor, painted girls with dead eyes and patrons who had crept away from their wives and family, eager to see their favourites once more. The Blooming Rose was actually a rather well-to-do establishment, frequented by Lords and Earls and so on, finding ever more ways to fritter away their money searching for excitement in their otherwise dull lives. Will raised his hand to the knocker...and let it fall to his side. He was about to turn away when the door flew open, and standing in the doorway was a petite Asian girl, who immediately gushed -

"My name Jasmine!" (Although, with her accent it sounded like 'Yasmin'.) "You want some fun? I give you fun!"

iShe must be new to this profession. /i Will thought, even his mind tainted with sarcasm.

His guess was proven correct as who Will assumed was the house's Madam hurried to the door and moved Jasmine out of the way, her obscenely long fingernails digging into the girl's arm.

"Hello Sir, and welcome to the Blooming Rose." The woman smiled, revealing perfect teeth, something highly unusual in this part of London. "What can I interest you in tonight?"

"My apologies, lady, but no business tonight" Will found the words spilling from his mouth without his permission.

The Madam's smile became sour. i It must be a slow night. /i "Perhaps another night then, Sir."

"Perhaps." Will murmured. He promptly turned on his heel and strode away – the encounter had seemingly sobered him slightly, he could almost see straight.

Somehow, Will always knew how to get back to the Institute, like a carrier pigeon returning to its coop. So he wandered 'home' the cold water streaming from the skies as if the heavens themselves had opened, and were emptying their contents onto Will head. The cold penetrated him to his very bones – nature's anaesthetic at work again.

B Okay, finished. It kind of came out darker than I intended :) Again, if anyone does read this, pleeease review, even if you think it's terrible. Much love :D /B


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